Police Badge, Bloody Murder and the Pretty Girls
by Spensuuh
Summary: It's September, 1946, when Alison DiLaurentis suddenly disappears, leaving nothing but blood stained walls and her grieving girlfriend behind. Detectives Hastings and Cavanaugh are assigned to the murder investigation and everything they manage to unravel is like nothing they've seen before. With the help of a suspect's daughter, a receptionist and a homeless man, they can manage.
1. Chapter 1

Police Badge, Bloody Murder and the Pretty Girl.

Chapter One

"Cavanaugh," Lieutenant Tanner's cold voice rang out through the room full of men and that one woman (not including herself), "You're with Hastings for this case." The men in the room all chuckled darkly, making snide, sexist comments under their breaths. Toby, however, grinned widely at the fact he'd finally be working with _the_ Spencer Hastings – she was, aside from Tanner (who nobody actually really saw as a woman), the only female detective in Rosewood. He was glad to be working with someone as brave, as cunning, as witty as her.

The sharp sound of heels clicking on the tile floor of the clean police department replace Tanner's voice as Spencer made her way over to Toby, "What happened, Boss?" 

"Young woman, Emily Fields, went to visit her friend Alison DiLaurentis. Got there and the house was covered in blood – everywhere, apparently. Said her good friend was nowhere to be seen. Presumed murder but we can't be sure until you two check it out." The two young officers nodded, shocked; murder was rather rare in the small town of Rosewood. Recently there'd been break-ins, vandalism, drunken fights, but murder was new. Just as they both stood up, Tanner dropped a folder down onto the desk Toby had been seated at before continuing, "I picked you two, because unlike all the other idiots in here, you're both capable of sympathy. The poor girl sounded distraught, this'll be hard enough without two hard-nut officers accusing _her_ of doing it. Don't let me down."

"I can promise you we won't, Lieutenant." Tanner nodded in response then sent them away with an address and the file titled, _**Missing Persons: A. DiLaurentis.**_

Spencer looked at the file sadly before holding her chin high up in the air and walking off to Toby's patrol car, heels clicking once again, hips swaying and resisting the urge to stick a middle finger up in the air at the men whistling behind her. She walked down the stairs as quickly as she could; smiling slightly at the only secretary there she liked – Hanna Marin – and followed after her new partner, "See you, Marin."

Hanna grinned widely, nodding her head enthusiastically, "You, too, Hastings. Be safe. You better come back _with_ Cavanaugh."

"Have you got a leash back there?" Spencer winked with a wave and as she left the building, she breathed in the fresh air. It didn't take too long to find Toby's car as he was standing leaned up against it smoking a cigarette and watching the way the smoke rose in the air. He opened the passenger's door for Spencer, but instead of taking up his offer she opened the other door and sat in the driver's seat, "Getting in any time soon, T?"

Toby chuckled, sitting down and throwing his finished cigarette out the window, "Go, _S_ ," he teased, "I'm ready. Tanner said we're heading to 29 Bridgewater Terrace. Not too far from here."

"I know where it is," she muttered, again feeling shocked, "that's the house _right_ beside the one I grew up in. My family sold it a few years ago when I joined the Force and they went off to England with my sister, Melissa and her fiancé, Wren. Anyway, what do you think happened to this girl, Alison?"

"No idea, Spencer. Just have to wait and see."

The rest of the car journey was spent in silence, both officers quietly thinking about why a murder had suddenly occurred. They lived in Rosewood for Christ's sake, people didn't just go around splattering their neighbour's blood around on a daily basis – this was serious, there had to be a motive behind it. Tanner said the body was missing, too, so did the killer just drag the victim around every inch of the house, spraying their blood on the walls, then run away _with_ the corpse? It didn't make much sense to Spencer, or Toby, so instead of thinking about the different possibilities she focused on the road and decided to search for answers when they reached Alison's friend, Emily.

As Spencer pulled up to the closed-off drive way of the DiLaurentis home, Toby placed his hand on her forearm, "Hey, S, maybe you do the talking; I've heard you're a lot more sensitive than any of the guys on the Force, meaning you'll be more sensitive than _me._ I'll look around a bit whilst you talk, and when Miss Fields is done you can come around, too," Toby smiled after his plan. "Is that okay with you?"

"Sure, Cavanaugh. It's just routine to make the female cop do the talking." She replied sarcastically, only joking with Toby, but if it had been another Detective she would've been deadly serious.

"I didn't me—" He attempts to at least redeem himself but shuts up as Spencer quickly cuts him off,

"I'm kidding; right now I'd be more than happy to talk to the poor soul. I didn't exactly prepare myself to start my morning my looking at blood-stained walls." She opens the car door and steps out, sighing when her right heel scuffs against the overgrown grass just beside the road. The sight of the home she grew up in right beside the house under investigation pulled at her heart strings. If only her and her family still lived in that house, then maybe she could've saved the poor girl whose body was nowhere to be found. The thought of being able to _stop_ a crime like this would've been so much better than having to solve it. Toby had already reached the bright yellow police tape that bordered the whole of the front garden and most likely the back of the house by the time Spencer remembered she had a job to do.

Nostalgia and pain filled her body as she drifted her gaze from her old home to the house beside it, and looked at the tall woman huddled in a blue blanket – despite being the same height as Spencer, if not taller, she looked so small sitting out on those front steps leading to the open ended porch. Miss Fields was visibly shuddering every two seconds with chattering teeth even in the early-September mild heat. Spencer knew that as an officer in the Rosewood Police Department, she wasn't allowed to let herself get attached to any of the people involved in a current case, yet she couldn't help but feel her heart drop slightly as she looked at Emily.

She walked across the outskirts of the DiLaurentis property slowly, careful not to stamp on any possible pieces of evidence or to break a heel of her shoe (sure, she was an officer and had a serious job that came with a lot of sexism, but Spencer was damn well good at her job and she always looked great doing it. There was no way she was risking a heel on her expensive shoes). There wasn't much to look at; just plants that had already begun to wither in the heat, a beat down mailbox with letters addressed to different members of the DiLaurentis family strewn across the grass and a small purple, woven bracelet thrown carelessly into the mud. Spencer stopped in her tracks and looked up, wondering if maybe that would be useful.

"Cavanaugh," she called out, chuckling when he whipped around almost immediately, losing his balance slightly, "Come here, I might have found something. You can check it out."

Toby walked over with the same precision Spencer had, looking down at the bracelet, "What exactly is it?"

"Hey, that's your job! I'm here to do the talking!"

Spencer pulled two pairs of thin, plastic gloves of her skirt pocket, handing a pair to her partner before slipping the other pair onto her own hands. Delicately, she picked it up and inspected it. The purple fabric wrapped around Spencer's fingers easily as she looked closely at the white stitching: _**ALISON.**_ "She owned this…" Quickly, she swallows the lump forming in her throat and clears her it, "I'll keep a hold of this and ask Miss Fields if she's ever saw this."

So with that being said, Spencer briskly turns and walks to the woman still sitting alone. The closer she gets, the slower she walks, hoping that she'll blink and this'll all be a dream because _someone is_ _ **dead.**_ There's no way she can do this case without getting attached, this isn't petty theft or a bunch a teenagers spray painting inappropriate drawings onto walls; someone's blood is splattered in the house that's only about 15 feet away from her at this point, and there body is _gone. They're gone,_ and all that's left is a poor woman who has to deal with the grief all alone.

Emily heard the click of high heels and her head snapped up, thinking it was Alison. Instead, she was greeted with the sight of Spencer Hastings dressed smartly in a skirt shorter than most women's, with dark brown braces that hooked behind the back of ironed white dress shirt. It didn't take a genius to figure out who stood before her, so she let out a quiet, "Hi…"

The detective sat down on the steps beside her, careful of her skirt riding too far up, "Hello, Miss Fields, I'm Detective Spencer Hastings. I'd like to ask a few questions, but only if you're ready." Emily nodded numbly in response.

"Just a minute please."

"Of course, whenever you're ready." The two women sat in silence for a few minutes, thinking about the whole situation. It was only about 7am on a Tuesday morning, and already a murder investigation was being carried out and Emily had cried enough tears to last her a lifetime. Of course, since the body wasn't actually _there_ , there was no way Emily could be sure that Alison was dead. Yet, for some reason (probably due to the blood and the detectives giving her solemn glances and sad smiles), she knew Ali wasn't going to just come home for dinner that night. But, if there was any chance of finding her, then Emily had to man up and answer some questions, no matter how bad she felt. On the bright side, at least it was Detectives Hastings and Cavanaugh – the two nicest, caring, head-strong people in Rosewood; plus, Hastings was the only woman to have the courage to be an officer in the world they lived in, meaning she probably didn't even have an ounce of judgemental snarkiness in her body.

The broken woman cleared her throat, "I'm ready now, I think."

"Alright, good. Miss Fields, if you need to stop at any time of feel uncomfortable at any time, just tell me and we can take a break. That okay?"

"Yes," Emily whispered, "Thank you."

"My pleasure. Now," Spencer's voice hardened a tiny bit, but was still probably as soft as the blanket covering Emily as she pulled out a small notebook and pencil, "did Miss DiLaurentis live alone?"

"Yes, well, her mother, father, and older brother also have their names in the contract for this house and sometimes stayed here, but for the most part Ali was alone here."

"You didn't live with her?"

"Um, well…" Emily hesitated.

"Well…?"

"Not by _law,_ but yes. I stayed here frequently with her. She didn't like to be alone, it often scared her." That made Spencer scribble something on the piece of paper in her hand.

"Why's that, Emily?"

"Well, she never actually told me why, but I can assume it's because Ali was," her lips pursed as she thought of the correct word to describe her, "out there. She didn't exactly _conform._ "

"Short dresses, bright lipstick, no _husband_ ; is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, Detective Hastings."

"What is – _was_ – your relationship to Miss DiLaurentis?"

When Emily didn't reply for a few seconds, Spencer lifted her head to look at the woman beside her. Her head hung low and she stared at the flowerbed not too far from them. She continued, "Emily," her voice was quiet and gentle, "were you and Miss DiLaurentis in a relationship?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Fields." Spencer whispered, scared that if she spoke to loudly her voice would crack, and possibly Emily's world would, too. "Do you know of anyone who would hurt your partner?"

"I mean, well, if anyone _knew_ about our relationship… Then, anyone could. I'm surprised you're still willing to help me, Detective Hastings."

"You can call me Spencer; I'm not just some disgusting pig the department dispatched, alright? I want to help you possibly find Alison, or at least find out what happened to her. What you do in the bedroom doesn't matter to me or Detective Cavanaugh," Spencer smiled, patting Emily's shaking hand. "We care about the case, and the people hurt because of it, not who they love."

Toby interrupted the moment with his clumsy, loud footsteps. "Hello, Miss Fields. I hope you're coping alright and S isn't too much of a hassle for you," he said kindly before turning to his partner, "They need you inside. Apparently I'm, and I quote, _'not smart enough for a case so intricate'._ So, the only way they'd let me touch anything is if I had you with me."

She laughed loudly, already taking a liking to Toby and his way of doing, well, _everything._ "If you'll excuse me Emily, I'm going to sort everything out for you. We'll keep you updated as much as we can. Feel better soon."

"Thank you, Detectives!" She called out in response as they walked up the stairs and into the bloody house Spencer dreaded entering.


	2. Chapter 2

Police Badge, Bloody Murder and the Pretty Girl

Chapter Two

 _ **Clues, clues, clues**_ _;_ that's all Spencer and Toby's job consisted of. Finding things that belonged to victims or suspects and praying they actually meant something. Wanting to _cry_ when all substantial evidence was either wiped away, or had to be sent away for testing. Yelling at one another as they almost spilled coffee all over the proof they needed _._ _ **Stress. Stress. Stress.**_

The person who decided to get rid of Alison DiLaurentis was smart; smarter than anyone Spencer had ever met (even taking her parents and Melissa into consideration). She knew that eventually she'd figure it all out – she always did – although she began to doubt whether or not _Toby_ would figure anything out. He was smart, sure, but he was clumsy and jumped to conclusions very quickly – two things Spencer would have to change about him if they planned on staying partners and, truth be told, she did want that because Tanner was right; her and Toby were the only two capable of compassion and with a case like this one, that's what they needed to find answers. It helped an awful lot that they could be tough when they had to be if they were talking to a suspect.

Spencer took long strides up the steps of the DiLaurentis home and past the threshold, focusing on the _clickclickclick_ of the heels she'd grown to adore even more that morning, rather than the sound of her heart racing against her chest, or the stench of blood that filled her nostrils the second she stepped foot into the wretched home, "Oh Lord." She muttered under her breath, voice choking up for a moment as Spencer tried to overcome that _awful_ smell. Unfortunately, some of the blood still looked wet, causing bile to threaten to spill out of Spencer's throat.

Much like the garden, there wasn't anything really to see (other than the blood). By the looks of it, Alison didn't struggle against her assailant; never put up any fight; didn't grab anything around her to use as a weapon. Spencer Hastings had been in that house for roughly a minute and a half and already came to the conclusion that this wasn't just some "normal" murder. This was different, because from what Emily had said about Alison, she made it seem like the now-missing woman would definitely have kicked her attacker right where the sun doesn't shine. Except, much to Spencer's surprise, there were no thrown vases or shattered glass, absolutely no ripped articles of clothing or just, _anything_ that showed Alison tried to fight.

"Toby," Spencer called out quietly, hoping he hadn't wandered too far off in the large house so he could still hear her, "Do you think maybe she was sleeping? Or drugged?"

"Maybe. It doesn't look like Miss DiLaurentis tried to attack whoever did this. It'd make a whole lot of sense." He paused in thought, "Should we call Tanner?"

"Not yet, look around a bit more. We still have to check the other rooms together."

Spencer was a good cop – _great,_ even – she always acted maturely, never freaked out and spoke calmly to all suspects and anyone else involved, but this… This was a completely different situation. She had, in her whole four years of being a Detective in Rosewood P.D. never, ever dealt with a murder case. Murder just _didn't happen_ in Rosewood, and it was going to take a while for Spencer to get her head wrapped around the fact that someone was _killed._ And Spencer had to figure out what the Hell happened, or else she was pretty much screwed. If she didn't find the murderer, then Spencer could lose her job; her reputation, she'd just be another woman who couldn't make it and she'd be damned if she'd become _that_ woman; Spencer could lose everything if she didn't solve this one.

Unfortunately, nothing made sense. And Emily wasn't as helpful as she had hoped – she certainly helped by revealing their relationship, but like she said, _anyone_ who knew of that couple could want to disappear. Spencer herself had received quite a few threats in her years on the Force, although she never thought much of it. It was always an anonymous misogynist, and she presumed it had been the same person every time (how many people signed their letters as " _-A_ "? Not very many, that's for sure), but she seriously doubted that _her_ threat was _Alison's_ threat. It was plausible, although Spencer had never actually been hurt, or affected, by the notes. "-A" never really seemed to want anything other than a fright out of her, so she just gathered them all up and stuffed them in the back of a drawer that contained other useless trinkets and receipts.

The DiLaurentis house was large – large enough that it'd take a couple of hours to go through the whole place if they wanted to find any substantial evidence that could actually take them somewhere – and Spencer _really_ didn't look forward to rooting around in every bedroom and inspecting hairbrushes and looking through Alison's _personal_ things. It felt wrong since Alison was the victim; she never deserved to have her whole life (or what was left of it) torn apart by a bunch of people who didn't even know her. They wanted to help, they really did, but it felt so _wrong_ to do it.

It didn't matter how many pairs of gloves Spencer wore, or if she wore heels that Alison would probably _adore,_ or what her intentions were – she wasn't Alison and never would be, despite the similarities that were already creeping their way into the case, so no matter what she did it would feel horribly wrong to search Alison's bedroom, or kitchen, or bathroom. It all felt foreign to Spencer because nobody had ever been into her new home except from her, nobody had looked into her own belongings and decided whether or not they meant something.

But in all fairness, Spencer had never gone missing before. And Spencer had never left a grieving girlfriend behind. Or had her blood decorate the walls like paint, still wet and out of reach in case it stained her. If Emily had touched it then it would definitely stain more than her clothes, her soul and mind and whatever crap people believed in would probably (most certainly) look like bloody Hell, or something like that.

Even with all those thoughts in her head, Spencer stepped into a room at the end of the hall. The heavy door creaked open loudly, the eeriness of it all giving her goose bumps across her arms, as she walked inside slowly. The room didn't look very special; it was clearly an office, with a large wooden desk pushed up against the wall, looking straight out the window and bookcases around the whole room. She groaned. "Oh, God, no. I am _not_ looking through this whole room alone. How can someone have so many books?"

"She loved reading," a quiet voice answered Spencer's question which was _not_ meant to be answered, causing her to jump out of her skin and place a hand over her chest in shock. "Sorry," Emily chuckled and Spencer smiled slightly, "like I said, she loved reading. More than anything. I loved watching her with a book in her hand. Alison was incredibly smart, if you hadn't guessed, there wasn't anything she didn't know. Well, I guess there were things she didn't know, but she _did_ always have answers to questions."

Spencer glanced around the room before walking back over to the door, popping her head out and ducked back inside when she realised nobody was there. She closed the door and turned back to Emily, "Sounds like you really loved her."

"I did."

"I'm sorry, Emily."

"Me, too. This doesn't feel real, if I'm completely honest with you."

"No?"

"No," Emily shook her head and spoke softly, "like I said, Alison was the smartest person in Rosewood, I bet you, and I don't think she'd just… I don't know how to say it, really, Detective."

She sighed and walked across to a book shelf in the far corner of the room, fingers brushing against every spine and dark eyes darting at ever title. Spencer watched quietly, hoping that she'd be able to get more answers out of the way Emily talked about Alison, or the way she acted in a room with her.

"It feels like she's still here," she finally concluded after a couple minutes of silence. "It feels like Alison is still here, I don't know why. Maybe it's because this room was her safe haven, or because she read these books to me a lot. Maybe I'm just trying to pretend she might be…"

"Emily," Spencer sighed sadly, taking a few small steps forward to the other woman and placed her hand on her forearm lightly. It even hurt _Spencer_ like Hell and she didn't even know Alison, she couldn't imagine what it'd be like to love her and have to sit around whilst police look for her body, ruining all that you have left of her. "Emily," she repeated, not knowing what else she could say, "you're allowed to cry."

All she received in response was a quick nod and a choked sob, "I-I'm sorry."

"No, no, Emily. Don't be sorry. You lost someone you _love,_ you're allowed to cry."

"God, you want to know something?" She asked bitterly, "I bet you my family will throw a party when they hear the news. I bet you they'll think that now Ali is gone I won't be attracted to women. They always wished I never would've met her because then _maybe_ I'd marry a man."

"You're family hated her?" Spencer asked with wide eyes. She wasn't even asking it in an accusing way; she wasn't a detective in that moment. She was curious. She was confused. All in all, Spencer was so s _ad_ that Emily's family hated the woman she loved, and wouldn't even care about the heartbreak that came with this case.

"That's an understatement."

"Would they…" She hesitated, "Would your parents harm Alison, hoping to _'cure'_ you?" Both women resisted the urge to roll their eyes at the thought of _curing_ homosexuality, knowing that they couldn't get into that topic for the time being due to the bigger issues at hand.

"They might, I'm not sure. Do you want their address?"

"That would be extremely helpful, Emily." She scribbled down the address as fast as she could in barely legible handwriting and ran out to Toby, fortunately bumping right into him. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"Fields' home. Might be a suspect. Emily, I'll come speak to you as soon as possible, alright? Will you be okay?"

With another quick nod from Emily, Spencer took that as her queue to leave and ran down to her car (well, maybe _ran_ isn't the correct word, since her high heels wouldn't really allow that), jumping in the passenger's seat and almost cursing at Toby for taking so long to get there. "C'mon, c'mon, you big idiot."

"Hey!" He exclaimed as he sat down in his uncomfortable leather seat, grimacing from the heat as he left it in the sun rather than the shade, "I'm going as quick as I can, okay? Look, Spencer, we're _driving!_ So, stop jittering and calm down, please."

She mumbled a curse word under her breath this time, grinning up at Toby when he glared at her. "Go, T, the sooner we get answers the better."

 _The sooner we find a murdered the better; we'll all be safer. And maybe Alison will be able to rest peacefully._


	3. Chapter 3

Police Badge, Bloody Murder and the Pretty Girl

Chapter Three

The Fields' home was much smaller than Alison's, although it wasn't tiny. It was cosy from the outside but Spencer wasn't too sure if it was like that on the inside, too; Emily's family were bitter homophobes, so it was slightly hard to believe their home would be painted with rainbows and butterflies.

When the car reached Emily's family home, Spencer hesitated with anxious thoughts. They _hated_ gay people, they _possibly killed_ a lesbian, and they might have ruined their daughter's life for the sake of heterosexuality. They could probably punch Spencer in the face and not even care about the sentence they'd receive. Actually, Spencer was almost certain that she'd leave there with a broken heel and a limping Toby.

"Relax, S," her partner started, "they don't have anything against you. You're there to see if they're bloody murderers; it isn't like _you're_ a lesbian."

Spencer's head snapped up and her dark eyes widened. She exhaled loudly with only partially open lips and gulped. Not knowing what to say, she nodded and looked out the car window past Toby. "Yeah." She started, still not making eye contact, "You're right, I'll be fine."

"Definitely," Toby grinned at her deviously, a glint in his eyes. "So, Good Cop, Bad Cop?"

"We'll see."

Walking up the steps of the house was petrifying for Spencer, in all honesty. The whole case had seemed to flip her world on its side already, and she'd only been on it for about two hours. Something about it made her feel incredibly uneasy, and a part of her believed that it wasn't because someone was dead. Thankfully Toby knocked on the door of the Fields' home, saving Spencer the misery. Quickly, a short woman with dark hair and eyes that matched Emily's answered the door, "Hello?"

"Mrs Fields?" Toby asked, again saving Spencer.

"Yes, that's me. You can call me Pam. Who are you?"

Surprisingly Spencer answered sharply before Toby even had the chance to process the question. "I'm Detective Hastings and this," she gestured to her partner briefly, "is Detective Cavanaugh. We'd like to talk to you about your daughter, Emily, and her partner Alison."

Almost immediately after Spencer uttered the words, Pam's face darkened as she responded glumly, "Come in."

Much to contrary belief, the interior of the house _was_ rather homely. Albeit smaller than the house Spencer grew up in (and possibly the house she lived in at that moment in time), it was definitely more cosy (a true shocker). Along the walls were pictures of Emily when she was younger, wearing uncomfortable long dresses and smiling like she wanted to smack someone. _Was Emily ever happy in this life?_ Spencer sighed sadly at the thought of Emily always feeling trapped inside her thoughts, always feeling trapped in the cage her parents shoved her in. Unfortunately, she knew that feeling all too well. Growing up, Spencer was never quite enough for her parents; it was always Melissa who won their pride, especially when she got engaged to Wren because he was a _doctor. Oh, well done Melissa you got married to a doctor, never mind the fact Spencer is_ _**actually**_ _pursuing her_ _ **own**_ _dream by herself._ Truly, it was never fair. But that's how it worked in the Hastings household.

It didn't matter how smart you were; how ambitious; how _happy_. All that mattered was whether or not you _conformed._ And clearly, Spencer was no good at that. This meant she was no good at being a Hastings.

Before she even knew what she was doing, Spencer was sitting on the small sofa in the living room beside Toby, clutching her far-too-weak-for-a-Hastings coffee so hard she could've shattered the mug. Toby placed his hand lightly on her knee to snap her out of the trance she had gotten herself into, "Calm down." He mouthed silently.

"Oh!" Pam exclaimed, "Are you two partners on and off duty?"

For about the hundredth day that day, Spencer's head snapped up in shock. She gripped onto the mug in her hands even tighter. _Did Pam even have any right to ask that?_ "No, slight physical contact isn't _marriage,_ Mrs Fields." She snapped and she couldn't deny the small smile that threatened its way onto her face after hearing Toby stifling a laugh. Sure, they were capable of sympathy and care, but they were both kids at heart, really, at the same time.

"I know, Detective. But that's a bit risky to be doing with someone."

"Like your daughter's relationship with Alison? Too risky for you and your husband?"

This time it was Pam's turn to whip her head round to Spencer, "Excuse me?" She asked harshly.

"Mrs Fields," Spencer started accusingly, "your daughter called in Miss DiLaurentis' disappearance today."

"W-what?"

"Alison DiLaurentis is missing, most likely murdered, and we are aware of that fact that you are one of the very few people who knew of their relationship, presumably along with your husband, and you are also a very narrow-minded, homophobic bigot like 98% of this cruel society. So, may your husband join us, or is he deployed elsewhere at the moment?" Spencer asked, recalling the photographs of Mr Fields in his uniform and the medals scattered across the living room.

"No, he's upstairs. I'll go get him."

Pam scurried away from the two detectives quickly, feeling flustered. "Wayne!" She called out, _"Wayne!"_

Toby turned to Spencer, speaking with hushed tones and bitter words. "Isn't that a bit weird? The _'narrow-minded, homophobic bigot'_ husband is back from the army _just_ as his daughter's **girl** friend is killed. Now, I'm not saying he did it, but come on. You do have to question that, don't you?"

"You're right. He'd also have access to weapons, and his wife could have a false alibi to protect him. It'd be pretty easy to do and then hide."

"So…?"

"Well, Toby, we don't have evidence. But, we're suspicious with reason, which means we can search for clues involving this family, but we can't arrest them."

Their talk was interrupted by Pam returning to the room with a man taller than her, who looked stern and strong. Spencer sat up straighter in her seat, giving Toby a brief glance to make sure he was okay. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw that he was looking almost as nonchalant – border-lining bored and annoyed – as her. The fact that maybe they could intimidate the couple slightly gave both of them a small sense of hope, because so far they were _nothing_ like Emily, which made it difficult to interact with them correctly.

Mr Fields sat across from the two young detectives and smiled, "Pam!" He cheered, "You never told me we had guests over for breakfast. Who are these two young kids?" Quickly, he shot his hand out to Toby, "I'm Wayne. Sorry, Pam never told me people were coming over. So," _Wayne_ paused and grinned mischievously, "how long have you two been together?"

At that point, Spencer had enough and even Pam could see how _done_ the young woman was, but she never expected to hear the coffee mug Emily used to always drink from slam onto her small coffee table. "I'm not dating a man, Christ's sake! Is that all that matters about a woman these days? How about the fact she might be a _murderer?!_ Is that special enough, Wayne?!"

"What are you talking about?" Wayne responded, standing up to look at Spencer closely, "What are you talking about?" He repeated.

"Alison DiLaurentis is dead. Emily is distraught and you two," she pointed her fingers at them both, "are our main suspects right now. You're homophobic. You hated Alison, and possibly Emily, in some sense."

He blinked slowly and swallowed thickly, as if he was still trying to process the whole situation. "Are you a police officer?"

Toby spoke for the first time in what seemed like forever, "I'm Detective Toby Cavanaugh, this is Spencer Hastings. Your daughter reported Alison missing this morning after seeing her house…" He trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence.

"In a state."

Wayne nodded, and then harshly shook his head. He didn't want his poor Emmy sitting all alone again, after the years she spent alone and hiding away from her family. Wayne never really cared about Emily's sexuality, it was just… _Pam._ She never accepted it, which meant he didn't either. And in that moment, Wayne had never hated himself more.

Emily finally had someone she loved – even if she was another girl – and he never let his daughter know it was okay before it was far too late. What good would come from acceptance if the one person Emily let her walls down for was _dead?_ That was the thing about Emily Fields; after years of being told _'you'll marry a man', 'this is just a mistake', 'you're confused', 'it's all Alison's fault, if you hadn't met her you'd be_ _ **normal**_ _',_ she made the choice to hide herself away in the confines of self hatred and her own confusion. She never had anyone until she had Alison, because 1) she didn't _want_ anyone until she had her and 2) Alison was the one person who taught her she was normal; that her sexual orientation didn't define her. Without Alison, Emily would probably have found some way to just end her life, and just Wayne wanted to divorce Pam and disappear because they _ruined_ Emily.

"Can I see my daughter?" He whispered, broken heartedly.

Spencer sighed sadly, sensing the remorse he felt. She was about to allow him to see Emily, even taken him to her in her own car, until she looked at Pam and was greeted with a glare that could kill. "I'm sorry, Wayne. You and your wife are involved, and due to that I can't allow you to see your daughter just yet. I promise you can see her soon."

"Alright, I understand," Wayne responded with tears in his eyes, "I'll still do anything I can to help. Anything for you. For Emmy."

And it was in that moment that Spencer realised Mr Fields was no murderer. Sure, he fought in the war the year before, without a doubt, but there was no way in Hell he would hurt his daughter by any means. She nodded stiffly, wondering if Pam even shared the pain and regret her husband was killing himself with.

Sensing that the detectives had nothing else to discuss, he quickly wrote down the house telephone number on a small piece of white card and handed it to Spencer with shaky hands. No words were spoken as the two detectives left the Fields' home with heavy hearts and clouded thoughts; both were positive that Wayne could be crossed off the list of suspects, but neither could say the same about Pam.

And they were both certain that Emily shared the same thoughts as she sat alone on the other side of town, without Alison.


	4. Chapter 4

Police Badge, Bloody Murder and the Pretty Girl

Chapter Four

"So, what do you want to do now?" Toby asked quietly.

"I don't know. We don't really have anywhere else to go, other than Emily and Alison's house or the offices, but…"

"The first would do no good and the second," he paused for dramatic effect, "I'd rather not be killed by Tanner for having no evidence and a partner who lashes out over the concept of marriage."

"What are y-?"

"Don't get snippy with me, too, it's not my fault that you want to be worth more than a husband and kids, and trust me you probably are, but you can't go around throwing coffee mugs and screaming bloody murder every time someone thinks we're a thing. That's what you get for being a woman in the business, S."

"Stop the car, Toby."

"What?"

"I _said,_ stop the bloody car." Spencer repeated through gritted teeth. "Stop now! I'm getting out, even if you don't."

Toby panicked, not really knowing what to do or meaning what he said. He knew for a fact that that was unbelievably dumb to say to a woman like Spencer; she had worked for her career for years – harder than most would work – and she definitely deserved it more than any man on the Force did. So of course, he couldn't help but feel awful about what he said – it was as if he just told Spencer she wasn't worthy of being there because she was a woman, and that she should just go home and stay in the kitchen with the kids as it'd be easier.

"Toby!" She nearly screamed, tears falling down her cheeks already, "Let me out."

"Spence, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean it."

" _Now!"_

Hastily, Toby pulled over and watched as Spencer climbed out the car as quickly as she could and flipped him off. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to prove to him that sure, she wasn't _'lady-like'_ even if she was _'feminine'._ Spencer _had_ to prove to him that it didn't matter what she had going on under her shirt, because she was capable of her job and everything else involved in her life. She could stick up the middle finger if she wanted, and she could scream and shout about not wanting to be married to a man all day. There was more to Spencer – and every woman in America, or on the planet for that matter – than the man she settled down with.

Spencer was powerful; Spencer was strong; Spencer was a Hastings, and Hastings could conquer the world without batting an eyelash.

If Toby didn't see that, then he could go back to the station where Tanner would chew his head off and all the men would clap his back for putting up with a girl for so long. In that moment, Spencer didn't care about Toby; she had herself and determination struck her as she told herself to prove that to the world.

So, there she stood on the sidewalk of some random street on the 1st of September and she let herself sob for the first time since her parents told her _'winners like us Hastings don't cry!'_ , even when she was popping pills out of stress and hid herself away in the dark of her room. She cried for what felt like forever. Spencer cried for herself; for Emily; for Alison; Hell, even for _Melissa_ ; cried for every woman who felt the way she did – alone, wrong and scared. Absolutely petrified of the world she was growing up in, and horrified by the fact that ever since she was fourteen she had been suddenly aware of how awful it all was.

Her hands jittered and her heart pounded, and _oh God, she just wanted to_ _ **disappear**_ _so badly._ Everything was happening far too quickly for her – the ache in her chest caused by Toby's comments, the fact that a girl like her was murdered, the _dead_ girl's girlfriend had nobody anymore and Christ, even the things that shouldn't have been bothering her still were eating away at her, like her parents never caring and her sister leaving her.

The world shook and crumbled along with her, seemingly hating the mess it had allowed itself to create.

A small hand found its way onto Spencer's shoulder, causing her to turn with a deep frown etched into her face and her big, brown eyes looked utterly broken. "Hi," a small brunette (with pink streaks) squeaked, "are you alright?"

Somehow – _somehow, impossibly –_ the sight of the tiny woman made Spencer feel lighter. She didn't even know a single thing about her other than that she was _so cute, so pretty_ and _so mesmerizing_. She nodded, panicked and embarrassed that she'd fallen apart so badly, _in public._

"I'm Aria."

"Sp-Spencer…"

"I know," she giggled, "the whole of Rosewood knows that." Spencer blushed and looked down at her feet, hoping _**Aria**_ didn't catch her tinted cheeks. "You can come in for a bit until you calm down. You're obviously not okay and probably have a lot going on, and well, it'd be a _crime_ to leave you out here alone."

"Did you just make jokes about my career after I got completely slated for it literally 5 minutes ago?"

Aria laughed again, "It's called a pun, Spencer."

The taller woman nodded slowly with a small smile forcing its way onto her face. "Maybe you'll just have to teach me how to keep up with you young kids, I'm definitely too old for your lot." She joked, feeling slightly giddy for some reason.

"Hey!" Aria exclaimed, slapping Spencer's arm lightly as if they were old, long term best friends, "I'm only 19!"

"And I'm 22, nearly 23. I've gotta keep up with the kids."

Just like that, within seconds of meeting her, Aria was able to hold Spencer's world together again like it was no problem. Even with red, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, Spencer smiled widely. She wasn't really sure _why_ she was smiling, but she was, and there was no way anyone could make her stop. Something about Aria made all of Spencer's worries and insecurities disappear, making her feel as if her world didn't nearly crumble 30 seconds before.

Aria grabbed Spencer's hand and tugged on it lightly, "C'mon." She mumbled, causing Spencer to blush again.

"Where are we going?"

"My house. Well, my parents' house. My, uh… Husband, he's coming over later. To see my parents."

Spencer chuckled quietly. "Not for you?" She commented darkly.

"Wait 'till you meet Ezra, you'll understand then," Aria responded quickly, slurred words running into each other clumsily, trying to finish the sentence before one another (something that she oddly related to), "anyway, that's not until later so… You're staying here until you feel better and need to leave for your investigation, or whatever you're up to."

"Yeah, uh, there's a slight… _Issue,_ in the investigation so really, you're stuck with me."

The smaller woman turned away, looking ahead to avoid Spencer's gaze. "That'd be nice."

Although September 1st had become Spencer's worst day of the whole year, that moment seemed perfect because she felt _okay,_ and the weight seemed to ease the smallest bit. It wasn't hard to believe that sure, Aria was tiny, but sure as Hell contained a lot of love (which Spencer needed… And _wanted)._


End file.
